


tears unshed

by Nibelung



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Celegorm and Curufin are also dicks, Don't try this at home kids, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Maedhros is a dick, Past Rape/Non-con, Violence, and Galadriel is an asshole, at least at first, eldar roasting on an open fire, oh and Orodreth too, seriously, she gets better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:47:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26325883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nibelung/pseuds/Nibelung
Summary: On the eve of the Nirnaeth, Prince Maedhros' newly-appointed guard, Celeborn of Doriath, witnesses his lord's reunion with Fëanor's eighth child.It doesn't go well.
Relationships: Beren Erchamion/Lúthien Tinúviel, Celeborn/Galadriel | Artanis
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. sins of the brothers

The canvas flap of the tent, ornately decorated with paints that depicted the arms of the leader of the House of Fëanor, rustled as the newcomer entered. He halted at the threshold, wary of his reception.

But the highborn Elf inside the tent, hearing his entry, gave him a look as sharp as a spear-point – a look that told of subterranean fires raging in that soul, fires that could warm and give comfort as easily as scorch and blaze – and the new arrival felt compelled to speak.

“You wanted to see me, Prince Maedhros?”

“Yes. Sit down.” With his one hand Maedhros waved Celeborn to a light wood-and-canvas chair in front of the folding table that served him as a desk. Evidently the Prince of the Noldor was as strangely humored as camp whispers said. _He blows hot and cold, that Lord does, and it’s hard to tell which is the worse._

But for Celeborn such matters were irrelevant: duty to the cause of the Eldar came foremost, and the strange humors of his lieges be damned.

He took a seat as he was bidden, adjusting the tassets of his armor to lie in his lap in a comfortable position before speaking. “To what do I owe this honor, sir?”

“Honor?” Maedhros laughed, a short sharp bark that had a streak of black wildness in it, and Celeborn started upright in his chair.

“Yes, sir—”

“Honor! You call it an _honor_ to be summoned to see me, eldest of Fëanor’s children and erstwhile High King of the Noldor? Tell me, soldier, what _honor_ do you see in my highborn blood, whose bearers have shed the blood of so many other Eldar? Or my right hand,” and he waved his stump before Celeborn’s astonished face, “whose wonted strength could not save me from captivity and worse in Angband?”

“My lord, what means this?” Celeborn asked, astonished by this mockery.

“Peace, soldier, the question was rhetorical. My temper runs hot at times, and you must indulge me. A flaw that I am afraid all too many of my kinfolk share.” He paused, choosing his words. “I wished to learn something about you, soldier, because you are unusual among this host.”

“As you will, sir.” Celeborn inclined his head.

“You are from Doriath.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You were a captain of the King’s guard there.”

“Indeed, sir.”

“You and a handful of others came thence to our summons, defying the ban of your lord Thingol.”

“That is so, sir.” He was too well-trained to say anything, yet Celeborn wondered very much what end all these questions sought.

“You have left Thingol’s service without leave, risking death should you return, only to seek worse death among the blood-drinking spears of the Glamhoth. Why?”

“Because we feel, sir, that your cause is the cause of all the Eldar. To wage war against the Enemy of All, to recover the Silmarils from Morgoth the hated and return in triumph to the Blessed Land – though I and most of my kinfolk have never seen it ourselves. This is our calling and our duty. It is nothing less. Not even our Lord Thingol’s forbidding us to join your host, inexplicable though it seems to us, would prevent our doing so.”

“Inexplicable.” Maedhros’ lips quirked, and something in Celeborn’s stomach twisted. “Therein lies the rub.” As a strange satisfied look crept over the Prince’s features, Celeborn guessed he was about to learn more of the secrets of the Wise than he would have ever thought himself likely to know.

“No, soldier, I am afraid it is very explicable. It is merely that you are not high enough in the gossips of the Wise to know the reasons thereof. But fear not. I shall reveal all, and then your puzzlement shall yield to understanding.

“You have heard the tale of Thingol’s daughter, Lúthien? How she and her mortal lover Beren wrested a Silmaril from the Iron Crown of the Dark Enemy?”

Celeborn nodded.

“And how upon that journey she was seized against her will by my brothers, Celegorm and Curufin, afterwards driven out of Nargothrond?” Maedhros went on.

“Yes, my Prince, but—”

“And you cannot imagine what wine-sodden hunters might do to a maiden behind closed doors?”

Celeborn paled.

“There it is.” Maedhros grinned wolfishly, showing teeth rotted and yellowed from his time in Angband. “Now you understand what seemed dark to you before. This is the reason you and your kin were forbidden to join our cause. This is why, on the eve of a battle that might decide the fate of all Beleriand, the host of the Eldar is deprived of some of its most skillful warriors. Because my idiot brothers, thinking with their cocks as always, raped Thingol’s daughter and let her escape to tell the tale.”

“But surely… if this were true…”

“Trust me as one who knows: the Wise are skilled at keeping secrets that touch the honor of their own.” Maedhros waved his arms, one with a hand and one without, in evident disgust. “But for those with eyes to see and minds to think, there are certain inferences that can be made. Tell me, have you seen your Lord’s daughter since her return from Thangorodrim, or since she sang her beloved Man out of the halls of Mandos?”

“No, sir. But I do not under—”

“Look at me, soldier!” Again the Prince thrust his maimed arm before Celeborn’s face. “Look at me and know what cruelties go on in Angband. Now think on what might befall a pretty maiden – or a newly ripe woman, as it were – who walks of her own will into the abode of the Lord of Darkness. I assure you, soldier, it is not a sight for unprepared eyes.” He sighed and rubbed his forehead absently with his one hand.

“But I digress from the matter at hand. You see now the reason for your lord Thingol’s ban. In truth I was not expecting any of your kin to come to our aid. But I am grateful for it. Every spear in our host strengthens it against the terrible might of Morgoth sure to fall on us in battle.”

“Thank you, my Prince.”

“You have risked the wrath of Thingol by coming here, and that is no small thing. Therefore I grant to you an honor, Celeborn of Doriath. You shall be my personal bodyguard, and watch over me and my camp as though my life were your own – for indeed it shall be, when we face the merciless Glamhoth as soon we will.”

“I will not fail you, my Prince.” Celeborn bowed low in his chair.

“Report to me at first light tomorrow morning. That will be all, soldier.”

Rising from his chair, Celeborn again bowed, and went from the tent, armor clanking.

He walked to his own tent with purpose, elated at the great responsibility now handed to him, and determined to prove himself equal to it. But the dark words of Maedhros cast a shadow in his mind, and long that night he brooded over what had been said, and left unsaid, ere he fell asleep.


	2. the eve of battle

The evening before the great battle was to begin, by order of Prince Maedhros, all lights in the camps of the Eldar were to be extinguished, to avoid letting the Enemy know their numbers.

Thus, it was in darkness that Celeborn kept guard over Maedhros’ tent, all but invisible as he sat concealed behind a crate of stores. And it was in darkness that Celeborn’s watchful eyes discerned a shadow moving against the starry sky: creeping silently and stealthily from the edge of the forest across the trodden ground toward the Prince’s tent, using crates and trunks and racks of weapons for cover as it came.

Evidently the Enemy did not balk at sending assassins amongst the Eldar, to slay their captains by guile rather than face them in open combat on the morrow.

Celeborn knew his duty.

Before the shadow could reach the door of the tent, Celeborn sprang out and was upon it, his naked sword already in his hand.

The assassin, startled, drew a knife to strike at this unlooked-for sentry, but with a skill honed by decades of training as one of Thingol’s royal guards, the Sinda parried it with his blade, and in the same swift motion knocked it from his foe’s hand.

The thrall of Angband reached into its robes, evidently for another weapon; but Celeborn’s free hand shot out and grabbed its narrow wrist, twisting hard and forcing the assassin to drop the second knife too to the ground.

With the flat of his blade Celeborn hemmed in his opponent’s other arm, and soon he had wrestled both the slender figure’s wrists into the grip of his own free hand, easily fighting down the attempts it made to break free. The figure wore a helm, and this and the darkness prevented him from getting a good look at whom he had been fighting; but it was cursing in a high voice, and not all of the words were Black Speech.

Some were Sindarin.

Other guards, hearing the commotion, by now were rushing to Celeborn’s aid with half-drawn swords, but by now the fight was over, and nothing was left but dealing with the unexpected prisoner.

Keeping the creature’s wrists held firmly with his left hand, Celeborn shoved the assassin onward as he guided the black-clad figure through the low-hanging flap of his commander’s tent.

Prince Maedhros would know what to do with such an enemy.

Inside the tent, to Celeborn’s surprise, there was light: Maedhros had left a brazier burning, illuminating the hollow angles of his face as the Prince sat staring into its flames as if entranced.

“My Lord,” Celeborn began, “I have captured this intruder, a thrall of Morgoth sent to assassinate you by treachery."

“Indeed?” said Maedhros. “I had been expecting this encounter, but I looked for it to happen tomorrow, not on this night when the red storm has yet to break. Guards,” he said, indicating some of the soldiers who had come up to the tent’s entrance in Celeborn’s wake, “keep watch on the tent, but stay outside. I can handle this prisoner.”

The sentries nodded and stepped back.

“You have done well, Celeborn,” the Prince continued. “A captive of great value you have taken this night. Remove its helm that we may look upon the face beneath.”

Celeborn tensed as he let go of the creature’s wrists.

Instantly upon being loosed, the prisoner elbowed him in the solar plexus, and he dropped his sword without thinking. He and the captive both knelt down on the dirt underfoot, grabbing frantically for the fallen weapon; but he was too slow, he wouldn’t make it, he had failed his Prince—

“That’s quite enough.”

Celeborn and the helmed assassin both raised their heads, and saw Maedhros holding a crossbow in his good arm, a bolt cocked and pointed at the assassin’s unarmored throat.

“I am never unprepared, soldier. Not after last time. But your devotion to your duty is admirable.”

The dark figure stood back up empty-handed, sensing its defeat, and Celeborn retrieved his sword. He took care to wipe the blade down before sheathing it. “Sir, I apologize. I should have—”

“Yes. But it was on my order that you acted as you did. Let that be a lesson to you, Celeborn of Doriath: do not trust blindly in the wisdom of your superiors.”

“Sir.”

“And now,” Maedhros said, keeping the crossbow leveled at their captive, “remove this helmet. I would see again the face beneath, which I have not beheld in a very long time.”

Celeborn fumbled with the unfamiliar straps at the creature’s neck that kept the helm in place, of crude work and so different to the elegant yet simple armor of Noldor artificers. Finally the buckle fell away, and he pulled the helm from the creature’s head.

He gasped when he saw what lay beneath it.

The assassin had fair skin, rather than the green or gray or blue hues common among the Glamhoth. Hair tumbled loose that was long and golden, like that of the children of Finarfin, tied into plaits to avoid obscuring its wearer’s vision in battle.

Icy blue eyes. Fine cheekbones. A slender, almost petite, nose.

And the ears – those were not the ears of a Man, so sadly common among the creatures of Morgoth.

This was an Elf.

More than that, an elleth.

Maedhros’ eyes glimmered in the brazier’s light with mirthless recognition.

“Hello, sister.”

She spat at him.

It landed on his cheek, but with an iron resolve that Celeborn inwardly admired, the Prince made no move to wipe it off. The crossbow remained leveled at the elleth’s throat.

Silence hung in the air, settling into the folds of the tent like a cloud of heavy smoke from the brazier.

At length Celeborn spoke: “My Lord, if I might be so bold: what passes here?”

“You, soldier, have just been initiated into one of the greatest secrets of the children of Fëanor,” said the Prince. “Perhaps one even greater than my brothers’ outrages offered to the daughter of Thingol. For it too touches matters of the heart and of the _gwib_.

“Seven sons my sire had, as all our bards can tell. But they know not the whole truth of it. Yea, seven sons—and one daughter.”

The tale Prince Maedhros then unfolded was strange, and unknown to Celeborn’s ears. He listened raptly, but all the while he kept his eyes on the unmasked captive, standing impassive and motionless as a statue as the flickering fire of the brazier cast strange shadows that played around the tent.

“Know, Celeborn of Doriath, that during the long journey of the Eldar to the Western Shore at the summons of the Powers in the dawn of Middle-earth, there was a halt of a year’s time when Elwe the chieftain, Elu Thingol as he is now, went missing, and all sought in vain to find him – including my father.

“In this search Fëanor pierced deeply into the unknown woods, and in his wanderings he happened on a strange vale of beings in seeming enchanted sleep. Male and female there were, like to the Eldar, but slightly larger of body, and with strange rounded ears; and even the young males had beards like the longsires of Elves.

“He knew not what they were; but now I deem they were Men, fashioned by Eru and not yet awakened from slumber.

“But among them was a woman, whose beauty and litheness were such that they entranced him, so that he forsook the vows he had made to Nerdanel my mother, and lay with this strange woman even as she slept.

“Once only did Fëanor come back to this vale, in a last search for his kinsman ere the company of the Elves resumed its long trek westward and gave Elwe up for lost, not knowing in truth what had befallen. Much was the surprise of Fëanor to see that the fair woman whom he had ravished had been delivered of a babe: a golden-haired daughter, suckling at her sleeping mother’s breast.

“Now Fëanor could not leave the child in the wilderness, to perish in the jaws of wolves or bears; so he broke the cord that bound the babe to its mother, and brought it back with him to the camp of the Eldar.

“I wonder if the sundering of the cord was what waked the first Woman from her sleep; and whether my father was, in strange wise, godfather to the race of Men.

“But when Fëanor returned, there was a stroke of luck. Finarfin his brother had also sired a child, after named Felagund. And this babe had the fair hair of his grandmother Indis, whom Finwe married on the journey after his first wife Miriel perished by a fall: a marriage that the Powers, had they known of it, would have forbidden, by reason of the immortality of the Elven soul.

“Now Felagund was born at the same hour as the newfound babe; and it was agreed by Fëanor and Finarfin that the children would be raised as twins, to spare the shame of the straying father and the blameless daughter alike. So it was done; but we the sons of Fëanor eventually had the truth from our father, when at last he gave up the ghost on the shores of Middle-earth under the first-risen Sun.

“Had that remained the extent of things, all would have been well. But when Alatariel our sister came with us to Middle-earth in search of the stolen Silmarils, her heart was not satisfied with rule over a kingdom in Beleriand. No, her pride and vanity pricked her on to become one of the blackest traitors that ever was among the Eldar – for she went of her own will to serve Morgoth, seeking to share in the dominion over all Arda that even now the Dark Lord craves.”

“There, and now you have the full tale.” At last Maedhros turned his attention to his sister. “I had expected to see you on the morrow, sister, in open field. But assassination under cover of darkness? It is a base deed, and worthy of Morgoth, but not of a high-born noble of the Eldar.”

“Noble?!” The elleth fairly spat the word. Looking at her now, Celeborn could indeed spot a familial resemblance: the high cheekbones were similar, and surely once the noses had been also, though Maedhros’ was now crooked and scarred from his captivity in Angband.

“Noble! You call our blood noble, when my father was so ashamed of his deed that he would not own me? When its bearers slay each other in the streets of the towns built by the accursed Powers, and leave their noble blood running into the gutters? Nobler by far is the cleansing fire with which my lord Sauron seeks to burn the world and make it anew, and the freezing rime of Morgoth the Lord of All.”

“I do not deny that we have the blood of innocents on our hands,” said Maedhros. “Much slaughter have we occasioned, and far too much of it without need, in our quest to recover the Silmarils from the Dark Lord. But I and my kin far prefer that sad consequence to the thought of living under the iron rule of Morgoth, with none daring to challenge his power even in the Blessed Realm - where the Valar, claiming to be far-seeing and far-knowing, let a wolf into their house, and did nothing to guard themselves and their charges even as his ravening jaws drew blood.”

“Ha!” barked the prisoner. “You lay all that on Morgoth, but so much of the blood on your hands, o Prince of the Noldor, was spilled by your own choice! Eagerly you slaughtered the Teleri in the havens of Tol Eressea, because they would not give you their ships and you would not wait to build your own. And eagerly you condemned the Vanyar to cross the Grinding Ice where many died, because you could not wait for them to join you, but would be gone upon the instant in your desire for revenge.

“I remember all too well; for I was there, and their blood is on my hands too, brother. I remember the blood we shed, and the anger of the Valar who tried to forbid us from the journey. But in this Middle-earth the Valar are far away and powerless. Here Morgoth rules supreme, and he grants power to those who admit his rightful lordship.

“His is the way of tooth and claw; mercy is weakness, and the only right is that of the fist and the sword. So it is in Middle-Earth. And your forces, I deem, are too few in number to overcome on the morrow, when so many of the Eldar have stayed away out of foolish spite and petty hatreds.”

“Maybe, or maybe not.” Maedhros moved his arm as if he would rub his chin with his missing hand, then evidently thought better of the action.

“There is truth in your words; I do not expect that we shall vanquish the Dark Lord on the morrow, even should we have victory in the field. For our sins are great, and that against the lord of Doriath not least; and the spears we lack because of that may prove our undoing. Victory was always a slim hope; but our black deeds have put it all but out of reach.

“Far more likely, I deem, is that we shall fail, and in that outcome not one of us shall know whether he shall escape, or perish by the sword, or worst of all fall alive into the hands of the Glamhoth, whose cruelties are numberless.”

“Lord—” Celeborn broke in, but at a look from the Prince he fell silent.

“Indeed, it is fortunate that you came here, sister. For I am minded to give to both you and my loyal guard here something I myself do not expect: a chance at life, far away from the blood-drinking spears and mire-trodden corpses of Eldar and Glamhoth alike.”

“My Lord?” said Celeborn.

“You, Celeborn, shall take my sister Alatariel, and go forth into the wilds with her this very night. Treat her well, I bid you; harm her not, though I deem you shall be sorely tested. She shall be your charge, to educate her anew in the ways of the Eldar, and wean her from the black creeds of Morgoth if you can. For I would that one of our blood at least should receive mercy, and escape the slaughter that looms with the dawn. I would prove Morgoth wrong.”

“Then I am not to fight?”

“Your duty, soldier, is far more important than fighting: it is to survive, to remember, and perhaps even prove that the creatures of Morgoth can learn the virtues we faithful Noldor have singularly failed to display.”

“It shall be as you say, sir.” Celeborn bowed. “If you require it of me, then I shall do it, though it mean our parting forever. I ask only time to gather my belongings and bring them here. One hour is all I require.”

“You shall have it. Go now. I shall keep watch on my sister till you return.”

Celeborn bowed and turned to leave.

“And – tell the guards outside to go to their rest. They have served well, and I am guard enough here for one prisoner.”

“Are you sure, sir?” asked Celeborn, his brow arched in puzzlement.

“Indeed.”

“It shall be done.” Celeborn turned once more and left the tent.

“Now, sister,” said Maedhros, “I do not let you intend to return to the wilds of Middle-earth unmarked. I want you to remember, in your flesh and your bone, what is the way of Morgoth; and to have that reminder always before you, when you dwell in the wilderness with an Elf who is far better than either of us, we two who are steeped in blood.”

He put down the crossbow, and before she could move, grabbed his sister roughly by the hair.

“Remember, sister, when I am gone. Remember this day. Remember the mercy of Morgoth, and the mercy of Maedhros.”

He pulled her over toward the brazier, holding her head directly above it so that one side of her face was dangerously close to the red-hot coals.

“Remember that, and judge whether that is not better than the lash and the thongs of Celeborn, whom I love and would not see perish when I myself go down to slaughter. Remember, in your every gaze in the mirror. Remember in your flesh and bone.”

He pushed her head down into the burning coals.

The harsh crescendo of sizzling flesh was drowned out by her screams.


	3. from the private royal archives

“…and thus it was that, in the starless gloaming before the dawn, Celeborn and Alatariel, the ruined half of her face swathed in bandages, set forth eastward from Beleriand, into the unknown wilds of Middle-earth. Celeborn was ever gentle with her, and patient, and forbearing; and with time the heart of Galadriel softened, as she learned that not all of the Eldar were as wicked as Morgoth the Vala had deemed them in reckoning from his own heart.

“So after long companionship they grew intimate, and by the linkage of their bodies made themselves wedded; but those whom they had left on the eve of battle were less fortunate. A new name she took, Galadriel, to replace that which had been sullied by her dark deeds of her prior life.

“As Maedhros had foreseen, the battle went badly for the Eldar. For they were routed by the hosts of Morgoth, and the Prince’s great love Fingon, High King of the Noldor, was slain. Great was the lamentation of Maedhros for his lover’s death; and not even the blood of a thousand Orcs could have sated the sorrow that was in his heart.

“The kingship of the Noldor fell upon Turgon, who remained hidden with his chosen people in the Vale of Gondolin yet unseen by the Enemy, and who cared little for all those outside it.

“In time Gondolin itself fell, and from its ashes came the babe Eärendil, who grew up into the herald who at last brought the Valar back to Middle-earth to compass the overthrow of Morgoth.

“For this great War of Wrath Celeborn and Galadriel returned from their seclusion, to aid the Eldar and the Powers in their terrible climactic fight against the Lord of Darkness; both in war and in council she was one of their greatest champions, and the Orcs learned to fear the golden-haired she-Elf with one blind eye and a face half burnt to ruin.

“At the last Morgoth was overthrown, and cast into the Void, and Beleriand was destroyed; and many of the Elves returned to the Blessed Realm. But Galadriel the Valar forbid from returning, for she almost uniquely among the Eldar had chosen to aid Morgoth of her own volition. In Middle-earth she would remain, working to heal the hurts that the Dark Lord had caused, until such time as they deemed her penance ended.

“And Celeborn, who had never seen the Blessed Realm, but loved the trees and woods of Middle-earth where they had dwelt, was saddened that his wife could not return to her home as she desired; but he was content to remain in the land of his birth until a time should come when they might depart into the West.

“Thus did they return eastward over the Mountains, and established the kingdom of Lothlórien; and Galadriel built a pool there, suffused with great power, whose mirrored waters let her see things afar, and things that were, and things that might yet be. Mighty was her magic grown by this time; and with glamour she concealed her damaged face, so that only those possessed of great magic themselves – either of their own right or through the items they carried, as with Frodo the Ringbearer – could see it truly.

“In the Second Age Galadriel was most implacable of the foes of Sauron, chief lieutenant of Morgoth, now risen to claim the mantle of Dark Lord; for she knew well how dangerous such power could be, when left unchecked to crush the Free Peoples under its iron grip, and yet how empty and hollow it was at its core.

“It was Galadriel who first saw through the masculine guise of Annatar to the womanly wiles of the Necromancer beneath; but Celebrimbor besotted in love did not heed her warnings, but rather dismissed them as fantasies born of jealousy and fear. Little did he realize that the love professed by Annatar was feigned, a ruse of Sauron the Deceiver to ensnare and destroy the natural son of Lúthien, in revenge for the defeat on the Wizard’s Isle millennia ago. Thus was Celebrimbor led to his destruction.

“But Galadriel remained adamant in her opposition to the works of the Enemy; and recognizing this Gil-galad, who had been entrusted with two Elven-rings by Celebrimbor his half-brother, passed one of them to Galadriel for safekeeping. She vowed that it should never fall into the hands of Sauron; and she was true to her word in that Age and the next, long after Gil-galad perished with Elendil in the final battle of the Siege of Barad-dur.

“So the Second Age passed, and the realm of Lórien endured. But at last the hour came for the final test, when in the Third Age Sauron arose again, and the power of Lothlórien, even augmented by an Elven-ring, was not what it had been of old. But the selflessness of Galadriel and her devotion to the people of Middle-Earth remained steadfast, and even as war-drums began to sound once again Celeborn was as ever ready to heed her wise counsel.

“In the battle before the ruins of Osgiliath, where Theoden King fell and the Wizard King in his turn perished at the hand of Eowyn of Rohan, sailing ships of the corsairs of Umbar came up the Anduin; and they looked likely to defeat the armies of the West, for all the valor of Aragorn and Faramir and the other captains and soldiers. But Ents sent by Treebeard and Elves of Lórien came unlooked-for to the aid of the heroes, prompted by the foresight of Galadriel gazing in her pool; and with their help the day was won by Gondor.

“Yet this aid had a terrible price; for Lórien itself was denuded of troops. Perceiving this Sauron sent a force of Orcs to destroy that wilderness whose rulers had for so long frustrated the conquest of all Middle-earth. The ancient mallorns fell to the axes and the torches of the Enemy, and the flets high in the trees were cast down to the earth; and when they were done, fabled Lothlórien was no more.

“But Celeborn and Galadriel had departed already, taking with them those Elves who had not marched to battle; and before they left Galadriel destroyed her Mirror, that Sauron should not use it to enslave the peoples of the world.

“Even as the Orcs hewed the timbers of their dwelling-places they hastened in secret to Imladris, where the Rings of Elrond and Galadriel and the natural defenses of the mountains held at bay the armies of Mordor until the final destruction of the Ring.

“Celeborn sorrowed greatly at the destruction of his beloved forests; but he knew that it was far better for the trees he loved to perish than for the Free Peoples of Middle-earth to go down to defeat, and the dominion of Sauron to be established over all the lands east of the Sea.

“With the defeat of Sauron Gandalf the White conveyed to Galadriel the forgiveness of the Valar. So she and Celeborn, together with Gandalf and Elrond, and Frodo Baggins the Ringbearer, took ship and departed into the West; she returning at last to the Blessed Realm of her youth, and Celeborn gazing on it for the first time with awed eyes.

“But the mallorn-trees of Middle-earth were not wholly eradicated. For a seed therefrom was given by Galadriel as a gift to Samwise Gamgee of the Shire, and after the War of the Ring he planted it there, where it blossomed and became a wondrous tree of great girth and sweet-smelling flowers: a remnant of the beauty of the Elder Days, which has not entirely gone out of the world.”

\--- _excerpted from the Blue Book of Rivendell_


	4. author's notes

I’ve had some version of this fic idea in my head for years now. The basic idea first came to me when I watched the second Hobbit film in the theater. For lack of a better word, Jackson-verse Thranduil’s facial scars felt _right_ , but not just that – they felt _borrowed_ somehow, taken from somewhere else, like how the extended edition of the first _Hobbit_ movie had jewels that were Definitely Not The Silmarils But Maybe If You Squint.

I tried to figure out where such an idea might fit in the legendarium, and I ended up pinning it on Galadriel – especially fitting because of her role as an Enemy of Sauron, “the Great Eye”.

But I still didn’t have a story for how Galadriel came by those facial scars. The best thing I could come up with was that maybe she was burned while helping Earendil to slay Ancalagon the Black during the War of Wrath.

Then a little plot bunny whispered in my ear, “what if it was like Sandor Clegane from _Game of Thrones_?”

And the result, after many false starts, was a fanfic.

Some notes on sources:

As in my previous stories, Sauron is female, though she frequently hides it behind a male "raiment".

Maedhros’ account of the Sleepers in the Vale, the ancestors of Men, is taken from the incomplete story of Gilfanon’s Tale in the Book of Lost Tales. The idea of Feanor assaulting one of them and a baby resulting is based directly on the Grimm Brothers’ version of Sleeping Beauty.

Galadriel as Feanor’s only daughter owes a debt to the royal family of Stormhold (seven brothers and one sister, Una) in Neil Gaiman’s Stardust. But moreover it perfectly fits her personality to be descended from the fiery artificer Feanor, rather than the reticent and passive Finarfin whose personality Felagund shares much more.

The idea of Feanor’s mother having died on the journey to Valinor is an attempt by me to retcon the otiose “Of Finwe and Miriel” story from the later Silmarillion texts, which I have never liked as it’s so blatantly an attempt by JRR Tolkien to bring his Elves perfectly in line with Catholic doctrine. However, the idea of Miriel dying on the journey to Valinor is something Tolkien himself considered during that period.

I think having Finwe remarry during the generations-long trek to the Western Shore is just the sort of thing that Elves in a “state of nature” might do in the absence of tutelage from their disapproving (and very Catholic) Valar overlords. Besides which, it allows for the tension in the Feanorian family tree to remain a part of the story without delving too deeply into weighty theological discussions.

I’ve mentioned this in other stories, but Celegorm and Curufin raping Luthien in Nargothrond is almost certainly what Tolkien intended his readers to infer; the Latin “rapere” literally means “seized and carried off by force”, with sexual assault afterwards being so routinely implied that it eventually became the primary meaning in languages like English.

The backstory in this fic is that Curufin deflowered Luthien (hence making her his “wife” in Elven parlance), resulting in the conception of Celebrimbor; Orodreth, plied with drink, also slept with her, thus fathering Gil-galad. Celegorm, “hasty riser”, pulled out early and didn’t father anyone. Fun with etymology, everybody…

The idea of a major battle in the Third Age taking place at Osgiliath rather than Minas Tirith, and Ents and Elves lending aid to the forces of Men there, is from Tolkien’s draft notes for LOTR. So also is the idea of Lothlorien being burnt as a result of its forces being sent to help in the War of the Ring. Maybe this is where Peter Jackson got those ideas about Faramir going to Osgiliath and Elves showing up at Helm’s Deep.

In this narrative Celeborn goes with Galadriel to Valinor because Lothlorien was destroyed – the published book has them separate, with Celeborn remaining in Middle-earth. I suspect Tolkien couldn’t bear to destroy Lorien when it came to writing ROTK, though it gives extra poignancy to Galadriel’s gift to Sam.

_v1.01A (SP-Minus)_ _September 6, 2020_


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